


Narcotics Anonymous

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drug Addiction, Episode Related, M/M, Past Drug Use, Pre-Relationship, Referenced Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: When Carisi goes undercover to catch a rapist targeting NA meetings, he runs into someone that he didn't expect.





	Narcotics Anonymous

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I say that a lot, I know, but in this case, it's true. Sort of a self-indulgent thing that I *think* may end up being the first part of a series exploring this dynamic and its implications? But I don't know. (If you feel strongly about it one way or another, feel free to let me know!)
> 
> In the meantime, while I figure all that out, have whatever this is.
> 
> Set sometime after S18E15, "Know It All", with spoilers up through that episode.
> 
> Usual disclaimer, plus added caveat: anything I say or imply about drug use and drug addiction is based solely on my own experience and should not be taken to represent the experiences of all drug addicts. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Carisi slumped down in the hard metal chair and took a sip of bitter coffee, resisting the urge to check his watch and instead picking at a hole in the fraying edge of his hoodie’s cuff. There had been a day not too long ago where he relished being undercover, enjoyed putting on the jeans and hoodies of his that so rarely saw the light of day anymore; now, he felt almost naked without a crisp suit and tie.

Besides which, this was his third Narcotics Anonymous meeting today, and if Carisi had ever been tempted to do drugs, he would never be again.

The first meeting he’d been to that day had been awkward, a small group sitting in a circle, and he’d felt uncomfortable openly lying about his made-up drug addiction. The second meeting and this one were more his speed: rows of chairs facing front, and no one waiting to hug him against his will.

It wasn't the most glamorous of undercover assignments, Carisi reflected as he took another sip of coffee and winced at the taste. Of course, in his line of work there were few undercover gigs that were, but tracking a rapist who was targeting NA meetings and attendees wasn't high on his list of preferred assignments.

And while Carisi had mostly gotten past any lingering urges he had to blame the victims, after listening to some of the things these people had done while high or to get high, he was having difficulty ginning up any real sympathy.

As the room filled up, Carisi kept his head down and avoided making eye contact, knowing it'd be far easier and far less conspicuous to make note of the attendees while they were all sharing their stories. So it was understandable that Carisi missed someone dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit filtering in along with everyone else.

In fact, it wasn't until the very end of the meeting, after the sharing was over and Carisi had done a full sweep of the room thrice over from his position at the very back of the room, when the leader announced that there were some chips to pass out, that Carisi noticed even him.

And it wasn’t until the leader smiled at the man in question and said, “Rafael, if you want to join me up here”, that Carisi finally recognized who it was, and his mouth when dry as Barba stood, smiling a little uncomfortably as the leader handed him his chip and then hugged him.

Carisi had never seen anyone _hug_ Barba before.

But Barba accepted the hug and the chip gracefully enough and turned to address the group. His eyes met Carisi’s, and for a brief moment, Barba looked stunned, his eyes widening, but quickly, almost too quickly for Carisi to process, Barba’s expression evened out. Personally, Carisi wished the entire floor would just open up and swallow him whole to avoid having to hear whatever Barba was about to say, to avoid learning anything like this about the man he had admired and even venerated for so long. And also to avoid having to eventually explain to Barba what the fuck he was doing at an NA meeting.

But Barba barely even hesitated, looking away from Carisi to tell the assembled group, his tone measured and careful, “My name is Rafael, and I’m a drug addict.”

“Hi, Rafael,” the room murmured back towards him, though Carisi remained silent, not trusting himself to speak, and he kept his gaze firmly on the floor.

“I’ve been clean for five years,” Barba said, and Carisi did look up at that, surprised, because he could understand if this had been something from Barba’s youth in the Bronx, but five years ago, Barba was an ADA in Brooklyn, and that meant— “Drug addiction almost ruined my life,” Barba continued. “It almost ended my career and has had ramifications that I still deal with to this day. Getting clean was the hardest thing I’ve ever done — until I had to stay clean.”

Gentle, appreciative laughter met that statement and Barba paused while he waited for it to subside, a half-smile on his face. Even here, even now, Barba looked perfectly in-control and at ease, and Carisi envied him that ability. “I won't bore any of you with the details,” Barba continued. “But while these past five years have been a fight, it's absolutely a fight worth having.”

For a moment, his eyes flickered over to Carisi and he looked as if he wanted to say something more, but instead, Barba settled for simply adding, “Thank you.”

With that, he returned his seat and the leader resumed passing out the remaining chips, but Carisi had stopped listening, instead trying to gauge whether he could successfully slip out before Barba could find him.

Then again, he supposed he owed Barba some form of explanation, and perhaps a promise that what he had learned in this room would remain in that room.

So a few minutes later, when the meeting broke up, Carisi stood and awkwardly lingered in the back near the coffee, half-hoping Barba would give him a wide berth.

He didn't.

Instead, Barba more or less made a beeline towards him, his expression losing some of its carefully-controlled neutrality. Carisi quickly turned to pour himself a cup of coffee, just to give his hands something to do. Barba paused near him, pretending to examine the selection of doughnuts. “The coffee here is the worst, isn't it?” he said, his voice pitched low.

Carisi glanced over at him. “I’ve had worse,” he said. “But not by much.”

Barba gave him an appraising look. “This is your first time here, right?” he asked, and Carisi blinked, unsure where Barba was going with this. “Trust me, to get through your first few meetings, you're going to need better coffee than this. Why don't I show you a pretty good place near here?”

The suggestion was offered lightly, with polite detachment, but Carisi could see the way Barba’s expression tightened, the way his eyes narrowed slightly, and he knew this was less a suggestion and more a command. “Uh, sure,” he said, giving Barba a nervous smile. “That'd be great.”

“Good,” Barba said, jerking his head toward the door. “Follow me.”

Together they made their way out of the church basement that the meeting had been held in, and once outside, Carisi again glanced over at Barba and opened his mouth to say something, but Barba just shook his head. “Don't,” he said, warning clear in his tone.

So Carisi didn't say anything, instead trailing after Barba as he led him to a bustling café only a few blocks away. Barba didn't look back at him as he made his way to the counter, seemingly content to ignore Carisi as he ordered two coffees before leading him to the back corner of the café and sitting down, looking up at Carisi expectantly. “Are you going to join me, Detective?” he asked, and Carisi winced at his tone.

Barba was pissed.

Carisi quickly sat down and bought himself time by taking a gulp of too-hot coffee, not even caring that he almost burned his mouth. “I'm sorry,” he finally told Barba.

“Sorry?” Barba repeated. “What the hell were you even doing there, Carisi? The things said in those meetings are ethically privileged. Is the NYPD going to start wiretapping confessionals next?”

The latter question was unmistakably a dig at Carisi’s Catholicism, and he blushed. “Ethically privileged, but not legally,” he reminded Barba, rather unnecessarily. “At least, if I'm remembering correctly from night school.”

He meant it as a conciliatory joke, using Barba’s own snarky words in an attempt to soften what he’d done. But Barba didn't laugh, didn't even crack a smile. “That doesn't answer my question,” Barba told him, his expression dark.

Carisi sighed and took another sip of coffee. “I'm on the job,” he told Barba, his voice low. “There's been a rapist targeting NA meetings, so I've been attending meetings in the area, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, the same people hanging around, whatever.”

“These meetings are anonymous for a reason,” Barba said. “If anyone found out NYPD had infiltrated—”

“What, they wouldn't be happy that we’re trying to keep them safe?” Carisi asked, his patience with Barba’s  self-righteous anger fraying.

Barba gave him a look. “Honestly? No.” He paused, taking a sip of his own coffee to add in a quiet vote, “There are people far more powerful than I who have pasts they’d rather forget, and secrets they’d do anything to protect.”

There was a warning in Barba’s voice, and Carisi nodded in understanding. “The Lieu knows what she's doing, and only those that need to know about the undercover op do,” he assured Barba. “And anything I hear that's not pertinent to the investigation goes in one ear and out the other.”

Though Barba nodded, he didn't look thoroughly convinced, and Carisi hesitated before blurting, “I swear, Counselor, I’m not gonna tell anyone about you or what I heard or—”

“I believe you,” Barba told him, cutting him off before Carisi could give the entire litany of assurances he was planning to tell him. “Of course, those who need to know already do, namely the DA.”

“You disclosed?” Carisi asked, surprised. “Why? Disclosing something like that is grounds for dismissal, at the least.”

He couldn’t quite believe that Barba would jeopardize his career to disclose something that very likely no one would ever have known, and Barba just shrugged. “I knew that when I disclosed,” he said. “But it was a risk I was worth taking, and at that stage of my recovery, it was something I needed to do.” His expression darkened. “And given what happened with the David Willard case, it’s a good thing I did.”

Carisi frowned. “David Willard?” he asked, trying to figure out how the Willard case connected to Barba’s drug use. “He was blackmailing you over Ashtonja Abreu, wasn’t he? What did she—”

“Did Lt. Benson fill you in on the details of why I was paying Ashtonja?” Barba interrupted.

Carisi’s frown deepened. “No,” he said. “I didn’t ask. I knew you weren’t paying her for sex, and honestly, it was none of my business why you were paying her.” He hesitated before adding, “But if you did want to tell me about it, I promise I’d listen.”

Barba took a sip of coffee, his expression neutral, as if he was actually considering it. Then he shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Carisi said instantly, blushing slightly when he realized that he sounded way too eager to hear all of the details about Barba’s potential indiscretions. “I mean, uh, whatever you want to tell me. I promise I’m a good listener.”

Barba snorted but didn’t refute it, instead checking his watch. “I can give you the abridged version,” he allowed. “I’ve got a meeting at 2.” He raised an eyebrow at Carisi. “Don’t you have another NA meeting you have to get to?”

Carisi shrugged. “Eventually,” he said. “But I got time.”

Barba’s expression didn’t change. “Fine.” He picked up his coffee but didn’t drink it, instead holding it in both hands as though he wasn’t sure what to do with them otherwise. “It started at Harvard. Cocaine was my drug of choice, because I am nothing if not a bad Cuban stereotype.” His expression twisted. “But let me tell you, Tony Montana’s got nothing on the Harvard Good Ol’ Boys club.”

He paused, and Carisi bit back the hundreds of questions that he had, knowing that rushing Barba was unlikely to get him as much of the story as he wanted. “Growing up where and how I did never mattered until I got to Harvard, and it didn’t take long for certain... _individuals—_ ” He bit the word off like it had personally offended him. “—to imply that because I was there on scholarship that I deserved to be there less than they did.”

“And let me guess, you weren’t gonna them the satisfaction of being proven correct?” Carisi said with a grin, unable to stop himself, because this was a side of Barba he knew well.

Barba looked exaggeratedly at his watch. “You lasted about twice as long without talking as I expected,” he said, half-smirking. Carisi mimed zipping his lip and Barba rolled his eyes before continuing. “But you’re right, I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. Which meant in addition to studying my ass off, I was going to do everything possible to fit in.”

He paused, and something in his expression turned almost sad, so much so that Carisi was half-tempted to offer him a hug, though he had a feeling that Barba had already reached his hug quota for the day. “Including cocaine?” Carisi asked, even though he had promised silence, because it looked like Barba needed some prodding.

Barba shrugged. “Well, it’s a lot easier to forget that you’re from _el barrio_ when you’re bending over a table snorting a line of coke next to the son of a senator and a likely future Supreme Court Justice.” He took a quick sip of coffee and rushed through the next part of his story. “And from there, I fell into the same trap as seemingly every addict ever. I went from just using at parties to fit in to using coke to get through tests and papers and the Bar and my first few years as a lawyer when I was working 100-plus hour weeks.” He said the words coldly, dispassionately, as if he was describing something that happened to someone else instead of himself. “And then I started using when I had a bad day in court, or a bad case, or just because it was a Tuesday and the idea of working four more days that week made me want to walk away from the only dream I’ve ever had.”

“Is that when you knew you had a problem?” Carisi asked quietly, fidgeting with the lid of his coffee cup.

“Honestly, there are still some days where I don’t want to admit it was a problem,” Barba said, equally quiet, looking suddenly as exhausted as if the past several years had all crashed down on him at once, and after a long moment, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What you have to understand,” he started, and Carisi frowned because it sounded like Barba was trying to justify this — to himself, or to Carisi, or to whomever — and Carisi didn’t want to hear the pleading edge to Barba’s voice. Not over something like this. “I achieved some of my greatest accomplishments when I was using. Even the case that your colleagues heaped praise onto me for, putting away those johns that raped a prostitute—”

“You were high for that?” Carisi burst, horrified.

He hadn’t meant to interrupt yet again, but he couldn’t stop himself. The idea of Barba being high in the courtroom, of his casual swagger and utter confidence being borne of chemicals rather than natural charisma...frankly, it left Carisi feeling sick to his stomach.

Barba raised both eyebrows as he watched Carisi carefully, clearly reading every emotion Carisi was trying his best to hide in his expression. “Of course not,” he said finally, when Carisi had tamped down the worst of what he was feeling. “I was stupid, but not that stupid. I was never high in the courtroom. Before and after work, on the other hand…” He trailed off and shrugged. “Well, like I said, I _was_ stupid.”

“You were an addict,” Carisi corrected him, with just a little bit of heat, because even after everything, no one called Barba stupid in front of him. Not even Barba.

“In my experience, the two are not mutually exclusive.” Still, the look Barba gave Carisi was measured, equal parts gratified and exasperated, and Carisi blushed and looked away, feeling suddenly tongue-tied and inexplicably shy. “In any case, the pattern of my drug use continued up until Marianna Abreu.”

Carisi cocked his head slightly. “Ashtonja’s mother?” he guessed.

Barba nodded, his expression tightening. “Yes. She was the sole witness against a guy who raped and killed two women.” He paused. “She was also a heroin addict, and on the day of the trial, she showed up so strung out that she could barely talk. The judge wouldn’t give me a recess, and when Marianna asked for a loan, I gave it to her, knowing that she would buy heroin and knowing that then she would get up on that stand and nail the guy.”

There was a certain vicious edge to Barba’s voice, and Carisi knew that it was because the win had meant that much to him. So he let Barba have his moment before asking, “And then what happened to Marianna?”

“She died of an overdose,” Barba told Carisi dully. “Eight hours later.”

Carisi swallowed, hard, and automatically crossed himself. “I’m sorry,” he offered.

“Don’t apologize to me,” Barba said, a little harshly. “Not when I had a hand in her death.”

There were many things that Carisi could say to that, to deny it hotly on Barba’s behalf, to reassure him that it hadn’t actually been his fault. He thought, briefly, of mentioning Bobby Bianchi, of his own guilt that no amount of trips to the confessional seemed able to sate, but decided now was not the time. “Still,” he said firmly, “you did what you had to do.”

Barba didn’t seem convinced. “Did I?” he mused, taking a sip of coffee and making a face at the taste. “Ugh, this is cold.” He glanced at his watch. “And the time would explain why.” He huffed a sigh and shook his head. “The ‘I did what I had to do’ defense is what has gotten me through the last five years, along with the money that I’ve paid to Ashtonja and her grandmother in...recompense, I guess, for what role I played in her mother’s death. But that defense falls a little flat when I remember that I got the call about Marianna’s death immediately after I had just done a line, that my star witness had died of an overdose while I was busy getting high.”

Carisi stared at him, but luckily, Barba didn’t seem to notice, looking off into space. “The worst part was, I hated her that day,” Barba said, his voice soft. “Showing up to court strung out — as if I wasn’t just as strung out, as if I wasn’t also shaking and wishing for the next bump to get me through that shitty day. But I still managed to come in and do my job.”

“It wasn’t her job, though,” Carisi said, before he could stop himself.

Barba blinked at him, taken aback for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “You’re right,” he said. “It wasn’t her job. And she did it anyway. She sent a murderer to prison for the rest of his life, and I couldn’t have done my job without her.” He attempted a smile, though to Carisi it looked more like a grimace. “And I will forever owe her for that. Which is why I’ve been paying Ashtonja and her grandmother.” He took a deep breath. “And it’s also why I got clean.”

Carisi nodded, slowly. “And is that why you put in for a transfer?”

“It was part of the reason,” Barba said. “I needed to change a lot of things in my life, and I decided it’d be easier to start over somewhere, so I did. And I haven’t used since the night Marianna died.” He snorted. “Frankly I haven’t even been all that tempted — until the Willard case, at least. And when Willard brought it all back…” He shrugged. “I started attending meetings again. Just to make sure I didn’t slip.”

“And here I was imagining you spent your suspension on a yacht. Or skiing. Or something,” Carisi said with an easy, joking grin.

Barba laughed, but it faded quickly. “Unfortunately, no, my suspension was spent doing nothing exciting. Which, while undoubtedly better for my health overall, made the time pass painfully slowly.”

“You coulda told me,” Carisi said, though he knew that wasn’t really true, and Barba just stared at him blankly.

“Could’ve told you what?” he asked. “My delightful history as a drug addict? So then, what, you could accompany me to NA meetings? As chivalrous as you may think that is, Detective, I think we both know better.”

“Ok, maybe not,” Carisi said, a touch defensively, “but I coulda, I dunno, talked to you. Helped you through it. Something, anyway, to make your suspension go faster.”

Barba propped his chin on his hand, examining Carisi closely. “Do you know, I honestly believe you would,” he said. “At least, until you found out why I was suspended.”

Carisi frowned. “What, you think I wouldn’t have understood?”

“Do you?” Barba asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Carisi’s first inclination was to tell him that of course, he absolutely understood, but the truth — well, the truth was a little more complicated. “I dunno if I would have understood,” he admitted, honestly. “I mean, I still don’t know if I do. But, uh…” He trailed off, searching for the right words to say. “Regardless of whether I understand, I guess I just wanna say thanks for telling me.”

Barba raised both eyebrows. “You’re welcome?” he said, pitching it like a question.

“Maybe thanks isn’t the right thing to say,” Carisi said quickly. “But, I mean, uh, you trusting me, uh — that means a lot. I mean, you coulda told the Lieu or Fin or, you know, anyone, so…” He trailed off again and rubbed the back of his neck, hating himself for needing to ask but his curiosity getting the best of him as always. “Uh, why did you tell me, instead of — I mean, instead of literally anyone else?” 

“You’re the one who caught me in NA,” Barba pointed out evenly, though he also shrugged. “But a part of me was also tired of hiding it, and you were a convenient outlet, and one not inclined towards gossip.” His expression turned shrewd as he added, a little pointedly, “Besides, I figured you should at least know what you’d be getting into before you decided whether or not to pursue this.”

Carisi felt his heart rate accelerate irrationally, and he ducked his head, avoiding Barba’s gaze. “Whaddya mean?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “You talking about the ADA job?”

They both knew he was talking far less about Carisi's pursuit of an ADA position and far more about his erstwhile pursuit of an ADA. Barba just gave him a look, but mercifully chose not to address the obvious. “At the very least,” he said, tracing around the lid of his coffee cup with his finger, “you should know that in this line of work, your heroes rarely stay that way.”

“You think you’re my hero?” Carisi asked, eyebrows raised. “That’s, uh, _brazen_ , Counselor.”

Barba shrugged, looking unconcerned. “Feel free to correct me if needed.”

Despite himself, Carisi blushed. “I mean, you kinda are,” he admitted, before looking up to meet Barba’s gaze squarely. “But what you’ve told me hasn’t contradicted that fact. If anything, it’s only made it more true.”

Barba opened his mouth and promptly closed it again, his expression softening. “That is remarkably naive of you,” he said, with a touch of his usual snark, though he blunted the blow by adding, “But thank you nonetheless.”

“I'm not naive,” Carisi said, managing to keep his automatic tendency toward defensiveness in check. “You think I could do this job everyday and still be naive? I’ve seen the worst this city has to offer, and no offense, but you don’t make the cut. And whatever happened five years ago, or anywhere else in your past — that doesn’t change what you’ve done since.”

Barba cleared his throat and looked down at his watch again, but Carisi was fairly certain in the instant before he did that Barba’s eyes had been red, and a little wet. “Touching though your unneeded validation may be, I have a meeting that I need to get to,” Barba said, his tone turning brisk, and he stood, still not quite meeting Carisi’s eyes. “Thank you for listening with only several interruptions—”

“Want to get a drink tonight?” Carisi asked, before he could stop himself. “Talk some more?”

Now Barba did glance up at him. “Don’t you have an NA meeting you’ll inevitably be attending?” he asked, amused. “Or have you completely forgotten that you’re on the job still?”

Carisi had forgotten, but only momentarily, and he covered for it by asking, “Ok, so — wanna get a drink when I’m not on the job?”

“Fine,” Barba said, “if only because it’s easier than arguing and my Lyft should be here in a minute.”

Carisi nodded and started to say something, then broke off, looking horrified. “Oh man, I didn’t even think — you’re not supposed to drink when you’re an addict—” He paused, his brow furrowing. “But you drink, I know you do.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “And our first topic of conversation when we get that drink will be the limits of abstinence-only recovery for addiction,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Detective, I have someplace I would much rather be.”

With that sudden, almost brusque end to the conversation, he left, making his way outside to whatever car service was waiting for him. Carisi just stared after him, his shoulders slumping, and he looked at his own watch and made a face. He wanted time to digest everything he had just learned, to — well, not to redetermine how he felt about Barba, because he hadn’t been lying: his feelings toward him hadn’t changed, even if, were it anyone else, they probably should’ve. But he still wanted time to figure out if this changed anything in the relationship he had all but given up on trying to pursue,

Carisi didn’t know what it said about him that learning all this today almost made him want Barba more.

But he didn’t have time to think about it, with another NA meeting in twenty minutes calling his name, and several more scheduled for that afternoon, so instead he drained his now-cold coffee and stood, just about ready to leave when his phone buzzed with a text, and he dug it out of his pocket and glanced at it, surprised to see that it was from Barba: _Stay safe out there_.

Carisi hesitated for only a moment before texting back: _Thanks. You stay safe as well._

 _Please don’t tell me this entire thing is going to turn into some misguided attempt on your part to ‘take care of me’_ , Barba responded, only seconds later, and for a moment, Carisi was impressed by how quickly the man could text.

Still, he rolled his eyes as he headed out of the café while texting back: _I’m like an Italian mom. I try to take care of everyone. Doesn’t make you special._ He hesitated, not sure how snarky he wanted to be after everything Barba had just told him, but he couldn’t resist adding: _But since you don’t try to take care of anyone, telling me to stay safe is a big deal. I’m touched._

Barba didn’t immediately respond and Carisi frowned, hoping he hadn’t gone too far, shoving his phone back in his pocket and making his way to the next NA location, which was luckily only a few blocks away. When he settled in at the back of the room once more, he checked his phone again, and he was far more pleased than he should be to see that Barba had texted him back.

 _You shouldn’t be_ , Barba had sent, followed by, _But consider it my way of saying thanks for listening._

Carisi didn’t even hesitate before sending back: _Anytime_.

And he meant it.


End file.
